


Broken

by ifishouldvanish



Series: Gold On The Soles Of Her Shoes [4]
Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Belle breaks a heel, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Foot Fetishism, Oops, and apparently has an ice kink, foot worship, male submission, sprains an ankle, the adventures of shoe fetish!Gold
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-18
Updated: 2017-04-23
Packaged: 2018-10-20 10:18:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,966
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10660512
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ifishouldvanish/pseuds/ifishouldvanish
Summary: winterswanderlust said: Alright so I can't stop thinking about this: how would footfetish!Gold react to Belle breaking a heel?? I keep picturing him giving the pair an honorable burial in their backyard or maybe making a funeral pyre. And god help him if Belle sprained her ankle in the process.As per usual, this turned out longer than I expected.





	1. Put Some Ice On It

**Author's Note:**

  * For [KillerKueen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/KillerKueen/gifts).



> Also shout out to @still-searching47 for getting me thinking about Belle's kinks in this 'verse. ;)

It was a day like any other, Mr Gold supposed. Walking down Main Street, arm in arm with his Belle. They’d just met at Granny’s for lunch and enjoyed their hamburgers with ketchup and extra pickles. He'd told her about the practical magic that condiments were, and she'd laughed— he always loved the way she sounded when she laughed. But it wasn't until later, when he was walking her back to the library, that it happened. She was wearing her favorite Gucci red suede mary jane platforms (with the peep-toe and the T-strap over the ankle) and telling him about a plot development in her latest read. He’d made a harmless quip and she’d laughed again— before yelping and stumbling to the ground.

“Belle!” He threw his arms around her just in time to break the fall, but as she climbed back to her feet, she stumbled again, letting out a pained hiss. “Easy, easy… I've got you, sweetheart.”

Belle looked down at her feet and groaned. “Darn it!”

Gold tried not to smile at his wife's mild choice of words. “What? What is it? Are you alright?”

“My heel broke…” she whined, frowning at the five-inch stiletto that had come detached from her shoe.

Gold blinked at her feet for a moment, confused. _Sod the shoes,_ he thought. “But are you alright? Did you hurt yourself?”

“I'm fi—” She tried to stand again, and cut herself off with another hiss. “Ach! That hurts!”

“Alright, alright...” He hushed. “Don't try to walk on it.” He hesitated for a moment, thinking of what to do next. If not for his own ankle, he’d have her lean on his shoulder and walk her to the car. That's what a strapping gentleman like David Nolan would do. But he was neither strapping nor much of a gentleman, underneath his designer suits. “H-Here—” he said, offering her his cane for her to lean on. “I'll get the car.”

She frowned at it. “No... that’s alright.”

“I'll not have my wife balancing on one leg off the side of the road if I can help it.” He insisted.

“But _you_ need it.”

“I'll be fine, sweetheart.”

“Well, alright…” she said, accepting the aid with a little smile. “Thank you.”

He gave her a peck on the lips. “I'll be right back, Belle.”

“And I'll uh, be here,” she chuckled, giving a helpless shrug.

Gold limped off toward the shop where the Cadillac was parked with great determination. He was always the helpless one— not his brave, strong, beautiful Belle. But now she needed him. He pulled the car up as close to the sidewalk as possible and rushed to open the door for her, and eased the seat back so she would have as much legroom as possible. She leaned heavily on him as she climbed in, but he couldn't bring himself to mind in the slightest, no matter how much his own ankle protested. He'd cut his limbs off, fling himself off a cliff, leap into a fire— _anything,_ if it would help his Belle.

“Comfortable?” He asked, placing her ruined shoes in her lap.

“Yes,” she chuckled. “Very.”

“Perfect.” He smiled and took a step back to close the door.

“Wait!”

He stepped back up to car, ducking his head inside. “What is it, sweetheart?”

Giggling, she held his cane out to him. “I think you can have this back.”

He looked down at her with a appreciative smile. “Right.”

“Thank you.” She said as he accepted it from her. She stretched up so she could peck him on the cheek. _“My handsome hero.”_

 _Gods,_ he could feel himself glowing at that. He wasn't a hero to anyone — But if it came from Belle's lips, then it must be so. She was always a remarkable judge of character, his Belle. Being thanked or told he'd done well was good. But being told he was her hero was another, and had him downright giddy. He looked back down at her with a smile, unable to find any words, and she winked at him. _Heavens._

It took a moment for him to collect his senses after that, but soon enough they were sitting in the waiting room at Storybrooke Memorial. Much to Gold's delight, Belle had taken his hand and was resting her head on his shoulder while they waited, her eyes closed peacefully. She was so beautiful and perfect and the thought that she felt so comfortable and safe next to him made him smile and feel so light.

When he wasn't distracted by all the adorable little shifting she did in her seat, Gold was thinking about her shoes. She _loved_ those shoes. They were probably her favorite pair. She liked to wear them with her favorite blue dress — the fit and flare one by Armani Exchange with the always appropriate sweetheart neckline and the bubbly lace shell. Oh, what a vision she was in that outfit. It was a _tragedy_ she had to lose the shoes. Were they not from the Fall 2014 collection, he could simply buy her another pair. But that was a lifetime ago, and his only option would be to buy them secondhand.

_Absolutely not._

Even assuming he _could_ find them in her petite size (a snowball's chance in hell), who knew what trace of the previous owner would linger on them, no matter how thoroughly he cleaned them! Perhaps he was being overparticular, but the thought of any woman other than his Belle wearing her shoes just ruined his… enjoyment of them. No, no. They had to be completely, one hundred percent _hers._

He jolted out of his thoughts when he felt Belle lift her head off of his shoulder. She yawned and blinked herself into wakefulness. “That's us, baby.” She whispered, nodding toward where Dr Whale was standing outside his office.

“Oh. Right. Right, of course.” He chuckled and escorted her inside.

Mr Gold watched anxiously as Dr Whale hung the x-rays up on the light box beside his desk. He suspected it was nothing more than a sprain, but heaven forbid she’d broken something. He couldn’t stand the thought. She’d be fine and cared for of course, he’d make sure of that— but he knew Belle would loathe the inconvenience of having to wear a cast for weeks. Anyone would.

“Well, I’m happy to inform you that we didn’t find any fractures, Mrs Gold.” The doctor said, giving them both a tight-lipped smile.

Mr Gold gave his wife’s hand a little squeeze. It wasn’t often that anyone referred to her as _Mrs Gold — _she was on a first name basis with virtually everyone in town—but it never failed to warm his heart when they did. He could never grow tired of being reminded that a woman as amazing as Belle would ever want to take his name.

She let out a little laugh. “You’re going to be marrying my best friend in a month, Victor. I think you can call me Belle.”

“Right. Belle.” He says a little awkwardly, glancing between the two of them. “Sorry. Habit. Patients.” He clears his throat loudly. “Anyway, just a sprain— stretched ligament. Some rest, cold compress, keep it elevated… should be fine in a week or two.”

“Well that's uh, good news.” She said, more to her husband than anyone else. “Thank you, Victor.”

“Yes. Thank you, doctor.”

“Well.” Victor slumped back into his chair and drummed his fingers on the desk for a moment. “Belle, I'd recommend some mild exercises once the swelling starts to go down in a day or two.” Victor continued. “And um… this may go without saying,” he said with a little smirk, “but let's try to wear flat shoes until it's healed completely, alright?”

Mr Gold caught his wife scrunching her nose in distaste. Nonetheless, she nodded. “Of course.”

 _Flat shoes._ He was quite certain his Belle didn't own a single pair that fit that description. "I believe like a trip to the shops is in order, then."

  


*****

  
  


Serving Belle was always a pleasure. But now that she needed his help in the more literal sense, it was even more so. Icing her ankle, helping her get around the house, bringing her her meals… it filled him with a greater sense of purpose than ever before. He would quit the shop for good and serve her until the end of his days— if he knew she wouldn't grow frustrated with being fussed over in a week.

Upon reflection, Mr Gold decided that the utter joy he felt when when he submitted to Belle wasn't about submission or giving up control at all. It was about feeling wanted and good. Providing care to someone he loved in a way that was uniquely their own. He'd spent all his life feeling useless and like he only ever got in the way. But with Belle, he had a role to fill, and one he filled well. He loved so deeply, but never had anyone to give his love _to._ Never had anyone to provide such care for and never had anyone who was as receptive to it as she was. She delighted in every thoughtful little gesture he did. Always made sure to tell him how much she appreciated it and what a good husband he was. All the love he'd always had in his heart now had someplace to go. He took great pride in how quickly he could answer her call, how far backwards he was willing to bend, how eager he was please her. It did a man good to feel wanted and appreciated. He just _thrived_ under her sunny, warm smiles and praise.

Raising Neal had given him an outlet for his nurturing instincts for a long time. But Neal was a man now. He didn't need his papa to cook his meals, or kiss his boo-boos, or anything of that sort. But Belle was his wife. His partner for life. Oh, how the thought that he was Belle's forever made his heart soar, and his entire body feel weightless. It was too good to be true, and yet it was.

Mr Gold knew the sort of things most men might think of him— that he was ‘whipped’. The suggestion angered him. He didn't do anything he didn't want to, and he pitied them for being so naive as to think that caring and doting on their wives or girlfriends was to be frowned upon as a chore. Even worse was the implication that Belle only wanted him for his money, and that he was too much a poor, desperate fool to see it. What he had with Belle was special, and had these people any idea what the two of them got up to in the privacy of their home, they would have no choice but to dispel the idea completely. He did his best to provide Belle with many things, and the suggestion that her interests only lied in the material ones was just offensive. A slanderous attack on her character.

Mr Gold shook his head. It wouldn’t do any good to think about such things now. He took the ice pack out of the freezer and carried it into the library where his mistress awaited him, rapping his knuckles gently in the doorframe to alert her to his presence. She didn't look up right away— finishing a sentence or paragraph or scene of her book before tucking her bookmark between its pages.

“Time again?” She asked, and the light coming through the window was falling on her just so and _heavens,_ what a vision she was.

“Three hours.” He said, holding the pack up for her to see.

She pouted her lips for a moment and shrugged before patting the arm of the sofa with a smile. “Come.”

His cane tapped across the hardwood floors as he approached, and he pulled out a chair where she was keeping her leg outstretched and elevated across the cushions. He plopped into his seat and took a long look at her ankle. The swelling had gone down considerably since yesterday.

“Feeling any better?” He asked.

“Yeah, I can um… move it a little better now?” She tucked her book aside and began rolling her ankle a little and wiggling her toes. “See— that doesn't hurt.”

He gave her a relieved little smile. “Good.”

Belle shifted on the sofa a little, inching closer to him. Her eyes flitted back and forth between him and her feet. Her tongue poked out and ran across her lips, which were slowly curling into a naughty little smile.

Gold’s grin widened and he cleared his throat. Gently, he rested his hand on her ankle. “What about this?” He asked coyly, dragging his thumb to and fro across her skin, but not applying any pressure. “Does... _this_ hurt?”

Now she was nibbling her lip. “…No.”

“What about—” Wetting his lips, he wrapped his hand loosely around her ankle and gave it a slight squeeze. _“...This?”_

“Mmm… Nope.” She said, shaking her head.

He dug thumb into the tender flesh, using tentative pressure. “And _this,_ sweetheart?”

“Feels good.”

“My, my… you just might be walking on it again come tomorrow.” He chuckled, sliding his hand away from her ankle in favor of caressing her leg. “Back in your sexy heels, torturing your poor husband…”

She giggled and rested her hand over his as it reached her thigh, guiding it up higher. A frisky thing, his Belle was. He scoot closer to her and she rolled onto her side to face him better, inviting his hand to wander over the curve of her bottom. He didn’t miss the way she wet her lips when he gave her a slight squeeze, nor look in her eyes when he let his hand drag between her thighs the way he knew she liked. “Not uh... too soon, I hope.” She murmured.

“Oh, no, no. Of course not.” He said, giving her a finishing pat. “Wouldn't want to rush the recovery now, would we?” He took her hand and pressed a kiss to it, then finally readied the ice pack, gently laying it over her ankle.

She rolled her eyes, then sucked in a sharp breath as the cold bit at her skin.

“Twenty minutes.” He said, reaching for his cane. “That should be what? Another book for you? Two, perhaps?”

She smiled at his teasing and shook her head. Stretching forward, she took the ice pack off her ankle. Gold watched with a flummoxed expression as she lifted up the hemline of her shirt and held the ice pack against her side. She winced, closing her eyes and biting her lip, and he swallowed hard. She was _enjoying_ it. She peered at him through her lashes and handed it back to him.

He cleared his throat and accepted it from her. “You…”

She nodded. “I want you to use it on me.”

“Anything you want, sweetheart.” He said, hurriedly abandoning his chair in favor of the spot on the couch beside her. She returned to her back and lifted her leg up so he could settle between them. He hesitated for a moment, not sure where to use it first. He decided to follow her suggestion, rubbing it along her side. A cold drop of condensation ran down her stomach and she responded with a little gasp, her skin transforming with little bumps. She squirmed and pushed her bottoms down in time for it to dribble down to her pubic area. Gods, it was tempting to lick it off.

Instead, he slid the ice pack up to her breast. She let out a little moan and nodded, so he pressed it over her nipple, dark and stiff from the cold.

 _“Yes.”_ She whispered. _“Oh,_ that’s good.” He rubbed it in circles against her, her taut bud rolling along with it. She whimpered and nodded, biting down harder on her lip. He shifted over her and switched the ice pack to his other hand and her other breast. Wetting his lips, he lowered himself over her and took her dark, chilled nipple between his lips. The cold felt pleasant against his warm tongue, a sensation that he decided must have been mutual when she moaned and pressed herself against him. Her abdomen twitched as more droplets ran down her stomach, making her hips snap against him as they reached the apex of her thighs.

He sucked at her gently a moment longer before pulling away to whip his hair out of his face and switch to her other breast, this time sliding the ice pack down her stomach. Her abdomen tightened in response and she shivered as he dragged it from her pelvis, along her inner thigh and up to her knee, then slowly back down again. She spread her legs further for him when he hesitated, sliding a hand between them and beginning to stroke herself.

He released her nipple from his lips and glanced down between her thighs to watch. “Oh, Belle…”

 _“Do it. Use it on me.”_ She whispered.

“Yes, Miss French.” He said, pulling back and rubbing the ice pack between her inner thighs again, gradually working closer to her core. She whimpered and squirmed when it reached her folds, and cried out when he dragged the blunt corner of it along her slit and over her dark, swollen bud.

 _“Oh my God.”_ She moaned, clutching the edges of the sofa and rolling her hips. He pressed the pack firmly against her while she rubbed herself against it, chasing her pleasure. _“More.”_

He began rubbing it in circles over her clit until she cried out again, arching her back and throwing her head back in ecstasy for a moment before collapsing onto the sofa again, panting. He pulled the ice pack out from between her thighs and held it against his cheek. It smelled like her, and he carefully flicked his tongue along the edge of it, desperate to taste her too. He caught her watching as he sucked on it, and he reverted back to licking. _She liked his tongue._

“Thank you,” she finally said, sounding a little breathless.

Gold finished with the ice pack and swallowed hard. “Of course.” He couldn’t look away from her. The satiated look in her eyes, her flushed cheeks. The little smile that let him know she was pleased with the job he’d done. He cleared his throat and look back at the ice pack that was no longer very cold at all. “I’ll ah, get another.”

She bit back a smile and nodded toward the door. “Okay.”

He disappeared back to the kitchen and returned to the library a moment later with another icy cold brick from the freezer. He plopped into his chair and gently set it on her ankle again. “Let’s ah… try to follow doctor’s orders this time, aye?” He said with a lopsided little smile.

Belle nibbled her lip and reached out for his hand, which he was all too happy to accept. They sat in silence for a few minutes, twining and untwining their fingers until she gave him a firm squeeze.

“You always take such good care of me.” She finally said, breaking the companionable silence.

“I try.”

“And you um… listen to me.”

He raised his brows and met her eyes. “Well, you _are_ a delightful conversationalist, Belle.”

“I don't know.” She shrugged, pouting her lips. “I was never used to that. Growing up, I mean. After mom passed.”

He didn't say anything to that, but simply acknowledged her by squeezing her hand.

“I felt like I was screaming into the void sometimes,” she explained with a weak chuckle. She sighed and pulled his hand into her lap, toying with his fingers. “No one ever seemed to have the time for me, yet they were always telling me what to do, what to think, how to feel.”

“Well. You and I have all the time in the world, sweetheart.” He said.

“I just mean… that it's uh, important to me. That I can ask something of you, and trust that you'll do it, and be happy about it.”

 _Yes._ It was all he wanted — to be someone she could depend on. “Of course, Belle. Your happiness is the most important thing in the world to me.”

“And Neal's.”

“Yes.”

She pressed her lips together, holding back a smile. “...And you're right.” She said.

He raised his brows. “Right about what, Belle?”

She giggled and his heart swelled in his chest. “That I don't have any flat shoes.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part two will be up in 2-3 days...


	2. Ritual

The thick shopping bags knocked and crinkled against the doorframe as Mr Gold waddled over the threshold and into the library where his wife was reading. A few seconds passed before she tore her attention away from her book to see the commotion, and she gave him a disapproving look. It was one that Mr Gold knew well, and received with pride. A look that says, “You really don’t have to go out of your way to do that, but I know you won’t hear any protest and god damn it if I don’t think it’s adorable anyway.”

He finally made it through the door, bags shuffling and cane tapping as he approached the sofa. He dropped the bags on the floor and they made a soft scraping sound against the hardwood floors as pushed them forward with his cane.

“For you, my love.” He announced with a smile, sounding a little out of breath.

Belle narrowed her eyes at the shopping bags set before her and nibbled her lip. “What's all this?” She asked, eyeing him with a quirked brow.

_ Shoes,  _ of course. He'd told her he had a matter to sort with a tenant and asked if she'd be alright if he was out for a few hours. She’d given him every assurance that she'd be fine, and that she'd hardly notice he was gone because she'd started another book she could hardly put down.

There was no tenant, of course. Instead he’d driven downtown, bringing Belle's ruined Gucci pumps to a reputable cobbler in the area. They’d pointed out how the metal rod in the heel had gotten bent slightly and would need to be replaced, but on a heel so tall and thin, they might not be able to get the alignment just right— making them potentially dangerous to wear. It’d be a costly repair, almost as much as the shoes had originally cost themselves, with no guarantee of success. But Gold had insisted, telling them money was no object and to try their best.

With the fate of Belle’s heels in the cobbler’s hands, he’d then paid visits to Christian Louboutin, Chanel, Valentino, and Prada in search of the perfect pair of flats. He'd explained Belle's situation to the stylists in each boutique, and they'd rushed to bring him pair after pair she might like. After all, they knew the Golds by name and had a good sense of Belle's personal style by now. 

“...Just a little something.” He told her, not nearly as casually as he would have liked.

She gave him skeptical look and reached into one of the bags, pulling out the first box.  _ Oh, the Valentinos. _ He was quite thrilled about that particular find. They were similar to her ill-fated Gucci pumps— deep red suede with a T-strap, but they were flats with a more pointed toe.

She rubbed her hand along the soft suede for a moment. “They're beautiful…” she finally said, looking up at him with a smile. “Thank you.”

He settled beside her on the couch and poked a finger at her wrist. “Would you…” he cleared his throat, “like to try them on?”

She nodded enthusiastically and repositioned herself so her feet rested in his lap, then handed him the shoes. “Please? I think I would like that very much.”

_ Like she needed to say please. _ The pleasure was entirely his own as he unfastened the delicate ankle straps on the shoes and slipped them onto her precious feet. He took his time fastening the ankle straps, enjoying handling her feet a little too much. They fit more snugly on her right foot which was still a little swollen, and he had to fasten the strap a notch or two looser— but they seemed to fit like a glove otherwise.

Belle smiled and wiggled her feet once he gave her a finishing pat. “Oh, I love them! They're just like mini flat versions of my Guccis!”

“Yes. That's precisely what I thought, sweetheart.” He chuckled, rubbing his hand over her feet. “Now go on—” He urged, leaning in to give her a kiss. “Open another.”

She took her lips between her teeth, trying to contain her almost childlike glee. “Okay!” She beamed, clapping her hands together.

There was a pair in black patent with an almond toe. A lovely nude pair in leather with an eyelet trim. Another pair in a fun shade of turquoise, and another in salmon. After all, he wanted his Belle to have a working wardrobe of flat shoes to wear. He wouldn't allow her to grow bored or feel limited by her options with just a single pair or two. Shoes were how Belle expressed herself. They made her feel confident and happy, and she would have as many pairs as her heart desired.

One by one, he slipped each pair on her feet, thrilled will how beautiful they looked on her. Her feet were absolutely perfect! Her ankles so elegantly shaped! But his heart began to sink as her enthusiasm slowly waned— her smiles not quite reaching her eyes and the excitement in her voice fading away. Had he done something wrong? Did she not like them?

“This is too much. You didn’t have to do this.” She finally said as she returned the last pair to their box. “Just— Dr Whale said I could wear my heels again once it healed properly.”

“I know I don’t have to.” He assured. “I just… I wanted to.”

“I mean— I love them, but this many pairs is  _ so  _ much more than I need, Rum.”

Was that it? He’d simply gotten too carried away? It certainly wouldn’t be the first time. “Well, sweetheart. If you want me to return them, I will. But I was thinking, perhaps…” he took her hand and looked into her eyes, “perhaps it wouldn't hurt for you to give your ankles a rest every now and again? To— to wear something like these more often?”

She sighed at the boxes on the floor, then looked back at her feet. “Yeah… I guess so.” She mumbled.

“Say, at the library? When you’re working? I… I do worry about you and those ladders, sweetheart.”

“No.” She nodded half-heartedly. “You’re right.”

  
  
  


*****

  
  
  


He’d never seen his Belle look so woebegone as she did now, staring at her reflection in the full-length mirror while she wore her new shoes. She didn’t have the twinkle in her eyes she usually did, didn’t twirl happily in her dress, or smile brightly. Mr Gold thought she’d be thrilled to be on her feet again— leaving their private home library for the public one on Main Street where she could share her love of the written word with countless patrons all day long. Instead she looked full of dread, chewing her lip hesitantly and frowning at her feet. She’d been glum all weekend. Ever since he’d brought home her new shoes, in fact. He’d tried tempting her with the ice pack again that evening, but the interest she’d exhibited over the past few days had suddenly become nonexistent. His Belle has become withdrawn and he couldn't understand why.

“What’s the matter, sweetheart?”

“Oh, nothing.” She said, but he wasn’t convinced in the slightest.

_ Nothing, his arse. _ He placed a hand on her shoulder, meeting her eyes in the mirror and raising his brows. 

“I... I just feel like such a frump.” She mumbled the admission, slouching her shoulders even further.

“Oh, no, no…” He hushed, gently gripping her arms and giving them a reassuring squeeze. “You're anything but, Belle.”

“Look at me... I'm hardly five feet tall. I’m like a child.”

_ Ah.  _ So  _ that’s  _ what it was. She felt… insecure? About her height? Belle was always so vibrant, so confident, so sprightly. It never occurred to him that she would  _ ever  _ feel insecure about  _ anything. _ She was  _ Belle. _ A woman who chose her own fate, took risks, was brave.

“Oh God,” she whined, burying her face in her hands. “And now I’m acting like one, too!”

“No you’re not.” He hushed, pressing a kiss to her shoulder. She was short enough without her heels that he had to crouch down slightly to close the distance between them.

“I’m standing in front of a mirror, afraid to leave the house because I don't have stilts on my feet!” She turned around to bury her face in his chest, unable to bear her reflection any longer.

He wrapped his arms around her and stroked her back gently. “Oh, Belle... Stilettos or not— you're still every inch the same incredibly kind, intelligent, brave, and sexy woman I have the honor of calling my wife.”

“You're just being nice.” She mumbled into his shirt.

He pulled away just enough to see her face, a smile fighting its way through her pout.  _ “Me? _ The town beast? Just being nice?”

She managed the tiniest of giggles at that. 

“No, I more than understand, Belle.”

She bit down on her cheek, looking up at him in a way that tugged at his heart. Hopeful, yet desperate. “Do you?”

“Aye. Just look at me—” he said, gesturing at his suit. “It's no accident that no one's ever seen what I look like without my suit, sweetheart. It’s my  _ armor, _ it makes me feel safe to go out and face the world. I fear that without it, people wouldn’t take me seriously, or that they’d look at my leg, my scrawny body, my crooked teeth, and pity me.”

“Mhmm.” She nodded in agreement. “They make me feel stronger and braver. My shoes, I mean.”

“But you must know that you  _ are  _ strong, sweetheart. And so, so brave.” He pulled away to look her in the eyes and gave her a tight-lipped smile. “And those things don't come from a silly pair of shoes, Belle. They're just who you are, right—” he poked a finger to her chest,  _ “here.” _

She blinked the wetness out of her eyes and nibbled her lip, a little smile spreading across her face. “I’ve seen you without your suit...”

“Oh yes, indeed you have, you little minx.” He teased, poking her belly.

“I don't feel like a little minx without them. I don't feel… sexy.”

Gold scoffed. “Sweetheart, you're—”

“I know you don't like them, either.”

His mouth flopped open like a fish out of water. “W-what?”

“You don't have to pretend that these…  _ do it _ for you.” She sighed, poking her foot out for him to see.

“No, no, Belle—” He rushed to object, taking her hand tightly.  _ “You _ do it for me.”

“I know the way you look at my shoes, Rum. I know it's not the same for you.”

He hesitated for a moment, not sure what the right thing to say is in this moment. But if a pair of shoes could make her feel like her best self, then why couldn't he— her husband— do the same for her? After all, that's what a husband and wife ought to do. Inspire each other to reach new heights and become their best selves. “You know what I think, Belle?”

“What?”

He bought himself a moment by wetting his lips. Belle initiated. Always. But he couldn't just stand by and let her continue to feel the way she does. “I think… I think the library can get along just fine for another hour or two.” He said.

Belle blinked up at him, tilting her head.

He swallowed. _ “...Miss French.” _

She nibbled her lip and looked over her shoulder at their bed. “Rum? You… you want to—?”

Steadying himself on his cane, he got down on his knees. He took each of her hands and looked up at her, rubbing his thumbs over her palms. His heart buzzed in his chest with a nervousness he hadn't felt since the night he proposed to her.

“Belle. You are the most incredible woman I’ve ever known. You’re smart, you’re capable. Your kindness and compassion is unyielding. You demand respect and you deserve every ounce of it that you receive and more. You go out of your way to help people— even a soul as desperate as me— and never ask for a thing in return. You walk into a room and everyone in it is better for it. I don’t know what I did so right, that I was so blessed to have you walk into my shop that first day, but there isn’t a day that passes that I don’t thank whatever force, whatever god, was responsible. And sexy? Sweetheart, you can bring this old fool to his knees with a single look, the slightest smile.”

The timid smile on her face finally reached her eyes and she squeezed his hands tightly.

“Six inch designer heels, ballet flats, flip-flops, or bare feet— I will always hold you above, sweetheart.”

She huffed out a little laugh, running her cheek against her shoulder to wipe away a tear.

“Let me worship you, Belle. I want you to feel as incredible as you are.”

She nodded and shifted on her feet a little. “...Okay.”

Gold picked up his cane and pushed himself back up to his feet. His fingers pinched at the hem of her dress and he checked in with her with a look. She nodded, and he pulled the garment up and off of her shoulders. He let it drop to the floor beside them, leaving her in her bra and panties. They weren't her sexiest things— a simple, nude t-shirt bra free of any embellishments and cotton panties— but as far as Gold was concerned, she looked as tempting as ever.

He cupped her face in his hands and gave her a kiss. “Please— sit,” he whispered, nodding toward the wingback chair in the corner.

She smiled a little wider and took her throne, and Gold hurried back to his knees at her feet. She was wringing her hands anxiously in her lap, so he clasped his own over them and dipped down to kiss them.

“My wife. I love you so much.” He told her with a reassuring smile.

“I love you too.” She said softly, returning the gesture with a smile of her own.

With that, he took her left leg and lifted it up, nuzzling his cheek against her foot. He dragged his nose along the length of it and inhaled deeply, but the smell of her new shoes wasn't enough to satisfy him— Belle's aroma was absent from the unchristened leather. Propping it against his chest, his fingers nimbly unfastened the ankle straps as if unwrapping a gift. He slid the shoe off gingerly and didn't hesitate to go in again, smelling the sole of her foot. And _ yes _ , there it was— what he craved— the unmistakable scent of his _ Belle. _

He moaned and pressed a kiss to her foot, then another, and another, trailing from her arch to her toes before taking one of them between his lips. He sucked it gently before moving on to the next, until each of them had received his individual attention. Belle fidgeted in the chair as he worked, and bit down in her lip as he poked his tongue between each precious digit.

He loved her toes— the topography of them, the round little tips of them, and the crevices in between. He could get lost in them: letting his tongue weave in and out, over and around every little contour, hill, and valley, never tiring of the way the landscape constantly changed as they curled and wiggled in response to him.

Her leg pulled back reflexively as he dragged his tongue back along her arch, and he followed after her with need, returning to her toes to suck and nibble them some more.

_ “Perfect,” _ he sighed. “Oh Belle, so perfect.”

He felt her other foot come up to rest on his shoulder, and she rubbed the pointed toe of the shoe against his jawline. He leaned into the touch and nuzzled against the suede, his hands slowly releasing their grip on her bare foot in favor of reaching for the other. Again, he undid the delicate strap and reverently removed the shoe so he could repeat the ritual with his tongue. Her heel, her arch, her toes—  _ gods yes, _ her toes.

When he'd gotten his fill of them, he pressed her foot to his face and inhaled her scent again. “So incredible, Belle...”

She let out a little giggle and shifted in her seat. He set her foot on the floor and extended the other leg, charting a path of kisses up the length of it as he settled between them, and she welcomed him by spreading her thighs. He gripped her legs where they bent at the knees and squeezed them gently, then firmly— working his way down her calves and back up again.

At no point did he ever stop placing kisses all over her skin. Once he was confident that every inch of her calves had received his attention, he scoot closer and buried his face between her thighs, sliding his hands upwards and digging his fingertips into the soft flesh of her hips. He tugged her closer to the edge of the seat and she let out a surprised little gasp at the relative moxie he was displaying this time.

He needed her to understand how completely irresistible she really was. To feel sexy and desirable. To know how much he enjoyed giving her pleasure, not just because she wanted it, but because he was her  _ husband, _ and he wanted and hungered for her.

His fingers tucked themselves inside the waistband of her panties and he slowly tugged them down. Belle arched her back, canting her hips to aid him, and he slowly pulled them down her thighs, past her knees, and off her ankles.

He pressed his face up against her pussy to inhale her once more, and she was so intoxicating. He dragged his nose along her slit and rubbed his cheek along her inner thigh, taking in as much of her scent as possible.

“You smell amazing, sweetheart.” He moaned breathlessly. “So perfect, so much better… than any perfume. I swear it. I want the smell of your wet pussy all over me, Belle. And I want to carry it with me all day. I want to be yours, to belong to you like this— and to be reminded of the fact in the most natural, most primal way possible. I want the world to know it too. To smell you on me and know who I belong to.” He looked up at her face, finding her eyes heavily focused on him through her lashes, her mouth hanging open slightly and her cheeks flushed. “...Do you understand?”

She nodded and wet her lips. “Yes.” She answered breathlessly.

“I want to give myself to you completely, Belle. May I? Would you accept such a humble offering?”

She bit back a smile and reached out to brush his hair out of his face. “...Yes. I accept, my beautiful husband.”

He smiled and turned his face to kiss her hand. “I am such a lucky, lucky, man, Belle. Thank you.”

She let out a thrilled little squeal when he tugged her closer again, getting her into the optimal position for what he was about to do. Her sounds encouraged him to continue taking the lead, something that felt so foreign to him. But then he realized he wasn't taking the lead at all. Not really. He was still indulging her every command, but instead of them being delivered from her lips as spoken words, they came from the little smile on her face, the dark, hungry look in her eyes, the heat between her legs. 

She sucked in a breath as he ran his tongue along her slit, and heavens, did she taste incredible. He worked slowly, savoring the sound of her heaving breaths as he drank her down. She moaned his name and her hips rolled against his face as she blessed him with more of her sweet nectar.

He felt her perfect fingers card through his hair and clutch at him, followed by her legs draping over his shoulders. Her heels dug into his back, pulling him closer, and he tugged her closer still. Her hips were almost entirely suspended off the edge of the chair and instead supported by his arms.  _ Oh, how she writhed and panted and begged for him! _

He teased at her entrance with his tongue and she arched against him for more. When he stroked her lips, she whimpered— and when he lapped at her clit she cried out, ensnaring him between her thighs and drawing him closer. The way her whole body tightened around him like a vice in her most vulnerable moments gratified him like nothing else. He continued to suck at her gently and she squirmed and jerked and moaned until she had no more to give. He'd prayed at her altar and she'd blessed him with every drop of herself in return like the benevolent goddess she was.

He charted firm, deliberate kisses across her lap, and she took one of his hands, lacing their fingers resting them across her soft belly. For a moment, he just watched her chest rise and fall as she recovered, talking in her beauty. But then she began to sit up with a sated smile on her face.

He closed his eyes as she gently combed her fingers through his hair and cupped his cheek. Her touch was always so soft, so warm, and so soothing.

“Oh, honey…” she sighed, “you make me feel like the luckiest woman in the world. You're so good to me. Such a perfect husband.”

Gold couldn't help smiling as he basked in her praise. It felt like stepping outside on a cloudless spring afternoon— the heat of the sun penetrating his skin and warming him to his bones.

Belle cupped his chin and brushed her thumb over his bottom lip, all the while nibbling on her own. “Would you like me to take you to bed, Mr Gold?”

_ “Yes.” _ He answered with a breath, the corner of his mouth twitching upwards into a grin. His Mistress was returning to her naughty, tempting, teasing self. And  _ he'd _ done that. “Please, Belle. I— I want to be  _ inside _ you. To  _ feel _ you around me. I want to watch you use my body for your pleasure again and again. You're so perfect, Belle,  _ please.” _

“Then strip and lie down in bed for your Mistress.”

“Yes, Mistress. Thank you, Mistress.” He nodded, already rushing to unbutton his shirt. His fingers trembled with urgency and anticipation, making the process take longer than it should have. He practically tripped over himself when he took his trousers off, but soon enough he was on his back on their bed, his mind and body ready for her.

Belle kneeled over him, straddling his thighs and dragging her fingers along his torso. The small, loosely defined muscles in his abdomen undulated under her touch, and she tilted her head at him, watching with an fascinated smile.

“Oh, my beautiful husband… so ready for me.” She bent down over him, dragging her fingers through his hair and pulling him in for a bruising kiss— nibbling and sucking on his lips hard. He couldn't resist reaching out and touching her, pulling her closer and moaning into her mouth. She took control of the kiss, stroking every corner of his mouth with her tongue, and he just relaxed and let her.

Soon her lips strayed from his and began charting a new path along his jawline and down his neck. He let his fingers slip out of her hair in favor of resting them on her thighs, rubbing and caressing them. Belle licked and tasted him, then stopped to look into his eyes, seeming nothing short of pleased.

“You taste so yummy, after you've worked up a sweat for your Mistress.”

_ “Yes—” _ he nodded eagerly. “Yes, it’s all for you, sweetheart.”

She smiled down at him and lowered herself over him again, continuing to lick the dew off of his chest. Her tongue flicked over his nipple, circled around it, teasing him until she finally took it into her mouth completely. He moaned and arched against her as she sucked, delighting in the feel of her body around him— The way she had him wonderfully trapped between her thighs and arms, her weight against him as she charted every inch of his body with her mouth.

“You give your husband so much, Belle.” He said breathily. “I want you to take. Take your pleasure. Take and take and take from me until there's nothing left.”

“Don't you worry, baby—” she said, pressing a firm kiss to his cheek. “I'm going to make you all mine.”

“I already am. I am so completely yours, Belle.  _ Forever. _ All you have to do is take me.”

She clumsily rose back up to her knees, and the smile on her face was so incredibly brilliant and beautiful. A sort of natural phenomenon that would pale even Aurora Borealis in comparison. He watched as she took him in hand and lined them up, and she locked her eyes with his for a second, licking her lips.

“Yes. That's it, sweetheart.” He nodded in encouragement. “Take me.”

He didn't care break eye contact with her as she bit down on her lip and sunk down over him. They moaned in unison as she sheathed him, enveloping him in her soft, warm, channel.

“God, you feel  _ transcendent, _ Belle.”

And she  _ looked _ ethereal. Hovering over him, her porcelain skin flushed pink and her chestnut curls cascading over her shoulders. A goddess.

She began rolling her hips against him slowly, sliding her hands up his chest and bending over his torso. Her small breasts pressed against him as she mouthed and nipped at his throat.

“My husband…” she whispered, “you feel so good inside me. Are you going be a good boy for your Mistress?”

“Yes.”

“Say it for me.” She said, her hips still grinding into him slowly. “What's the most important rule, Mr Gold?”

“Ladies first.”

She pressed another kiss to his cheek. “That's right.” She smiled and sat upright again, quickening her pace. He gripped her thighs for leverage as he tried to meet her thrusts, and soon she was panting, bouncing in his lap. It was almost impossible to tear his eyes away from where they were joined, watching the way she sheathed and unsheathed him, over and over in time with the heated moans that fell from her lips. But when he finally did? Oh, was it worth it. To see her eyes closed and her mouth agape in ecstasy like Bernini’s  _ Saint Teresa _ . But no, no— Belle was the angel, and he was the one seeing the light, being set aflame, and feeling her glory.

“God, Belle! Yes! You're radiant!”

He was getting so close, and he had to clench his eyes shut and bite down hard on his lip to stave off his own release. 

Her cries grew louder and climbed in pitch, her gyrations falling out of rhythm until she finally came with his name on her tongue. God, he could have come so good and hard for her in that moment. But it wasn't time. She would tell him when he could come for her.

She rode him through her orgasm, before collapsing over him and claiming his mouth again.

“I want you,” she panted. “Oh, my husband, I want you. Roll over for your Mistress.”

He did as he was told, reversing their positions and searching her eyes for further instruction while he hovered over her. “What does my Mistress want?”

“Give yourself to me. Show your Mistress how desperately you need her.”

“Oh, Belle—” he hesitated. “Sweetheart, I'm already so close.”

“That doesn't matter.” She said softly. She slung her ankles over his shoulders, framing his face with her feet. “I'm ready for you, my beautiful, handsome husband. Now show me the depth of your need.”

“Yes. Yes, my love.” He whispered, closing his eyes and turning his face so he could breathe in her foot where it rested against his cheek. God, it was the best of both worlds, to be inside her and have her perfect feet on him at once. He began pumping into her slowly as he inhaled her scent. Inhaling became kissing. Kissing became licking. Licking became sucking, and his pace quickened the longer he made love to her stretching arches and curling toes.

“You're doing so good, baby.” She moaned. “I love watching you worship me. But now I want you to come for me. Can you come nice and hard for your Mistress?”

_ Yes. _ He grunted and nodded his answer.

“So good... Now let me see you come.”

He snapped his hips into her one, two, three, four times before crying her name and collapsing against her, clutching her shoulders as he emptied himself. She held him close, her fingers scraping gently up the back of his neck and through his hair, petting him. His breaths slowed and she pressed an affectionate kiss to his temple.

“You were so perfect, baby. You were so good for me.” She whispered. “I have such a perfect husband. Now come on—” she said, patting the space beside her.

He nodded against her shoulder and rolled off of her so she could spoon up behind him. Worshipping Belle always left him so entirely spent, but nothing soothed him quite like having her arms wrapped snugly around him.

“My husband—” she cooed, pressing a kiss to his shoulder. “I love you so very much.”

“And I love  _ you, _ Belle. So much.” He said, squirming back against her, needing to be closer. “How… how are you feeling, sweetheart?”

She gave him a squeeze and another kiss. “I feel like a goddess. Like a force of nature.”

He smiled at that and wiggled in her arms, turning around to face her. “As well you should, Belle. Always. That's what you are.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I kind of underestimated how long this smuttiness would be.  
> A proper ending with a bow on it will be up in a day or two. ;)


	3. Nothing That Can't Be Fixed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Well, this was a ride. Enjoy the fluffy conclusion :)

He couldn't wait for her to get home from the library. He'd picked up her Guccis from the cobbler this morning and all that was left was for her to try them on and see how they felt. He didn't want to get his hopes up too much though— the cobbler made sure to stress the likelihood of the heel alignment being off ever so slightly, just enough to leave them unwearable despite their best efforts.

But oh, how happy his Belle would be to wear her favorite shoes again! Just thinking about the look of sheer delight on her beautiful face had him giddy all afternoon. And to see them back in their rightful position on her feet— the deep red suede contrasting her luminous, porcelain skin, the color of her pedicure peeping through the open toe, the T-straps accentuating her delicate ankles...

He shook his head before his thoughts could wander too far. But gods, how did he get so lucky? So blessed, to have a woman as stunning as Belle to call his wife?

He would have dinner ready for her when she got home. Chicken Marsala with mushrooms and prosciutto, paired with Pinot noir. He decided he'd give her her shoes to try on before they ate. This way, if the repair as a success, she could wear them at the table. If not, then at least she'd still have a home cooked meal to look forward to. But also, he just didn't think he could stand to wait until afterwards.

So, before dinner. Definitely before.

Dinner was coming along swimmingly, and he was whisking the simmering Marsala sauce to life when he felt a familiar pair of arms wrap around his chest.

 _Sneaky little minx,_ he thought. He hadn't heard the sound of her heels clunking on the front porch. Unless... she was still wearing her flats? They'd seen Dr Whale yesterday though, and he'd given her the green light to wear heels again. He was certain she'd rush to wear one of her tallest pairs today.

She pressed a kiss to the nape of his neck— or, as close as she could reach— and squeezed him tightly. “What's all this, hmm?”

“Nothing. I just figured I'd prepare a little something special to mark the occasion.”

Belle giggled in his ear and his heart swelled in his chest. “And what occasion is that?”

“The one where I manage not to burn this sauce when my wife is clearly trying to distract me.” He said, carefully stirring the pan’s contents while she gently swayed the two of them from side to side.

“I'm not trying to distract you!” She laughed. _“Though I suppose I could…”_ she murmured, clutching a hand through his hair,  tugging it lightly and gently scraping his scalp. _Gods above._ “But did you ever think that maybe _you're_ the one who's distracting?”

He cleared his throat. “And what responsibilities might I be distracting you from at the moment, sweetheart?”

Belle pressed another kiss to his shoulder. “Smells delicious.” She said, changing the subject.

“It’s also _done.”_ He said, tapping the whisk on the edge of the pan before setting it on the spoon rest.

"Hm... I wasn't talking about dinner, handsome.”

He turned off the stove and moved the pan to another burner to cool, then spun around to face her. “I don't know what you're after, sweetheart, but all this flattery will get you nowhere.” He warned playfully.

She was failing miserably at holding back the smile on her face, and it made it impossible for him to maintain the stern expression on his. Reaching up on her toes, she pressed her lips to his, and _goodness—_ her kisses always left him breathless, no matter how soft or how deep, how chaste or how impassioned.

“I have something for you.” He managed to say.

Belle grinned and arched her brow. “...Do you?”

“I do.” He nodded, smiling again.

She freed him from her arms and watched as he hitched into the living room to retrieve a shoebox that had been hiding in plain sight on one of the end tables.

“Before I give this to you, I must caution you, sweetheart.” He began. “The cobbler did their best, but well— they just might not be the same.”

“Oh, Rum—” she blurted, catching on. “you didn't have to—”

“I wanted to.” He assured. “They were your favorite.”

She raised a brow at him. “Are you sure they're not just _your_ favorite?”

His lips curled into a lopsided little smirk. “...They might be in the top ten. Or, five.”

Belle nibbled her lip and pulled the lid off the box slowly, smiling brightly at what she found. _“These_ are my shoes?!” She gasped, taking the right shoe out of the box. “They look brand new! They got the scuffs out and everything!”

“Aye, they did. But— again, you ought to hold your judgement until you try them on, sweetheart. They might not...” He trailed off, giving her an apologetic look.

“I understand.” She nodded and huffed out a little laugh. “I did quite a number on them, didn't I?”

He just smiled. She had, wearing them as often as she did.

She plopped onto the sofa with the box in her lap, staring up at him. He raised his brows expectantly, eager for a verdict.

“...Rum?”

He cleared his throat. “Yes, sweetheart?”

“Would you like to... help?”

He blushed, embarrassed for being so neglectful. _Of course he'd like to help._

 _“Yes._ Yes, of course.” He blurted, rushing to his knees and smiling up at her. He took her hand and pressed a kiss to it. “It would be my honor, sweetheart.”

He carefully traded her Valentino flats for the restored Guccis, taking his sweet time with the ankle straps. With them fastened comfortably, he pushed himself back up to his feet and offered his hands to her. She took them and he pulled her to her feet before taking a step back, giving her room to walk about.

The first thing he noticed was that she was unsteady. He wasn't sure if it was because it was her first time wearing heels since her injury, or because of the shoes themselves. But she was pacing clumsily across the rug like a newborn calf learning to use its legs, and he'd be endeared if not for the disappointment sinking in his chest.

“How…  How do they feel, sweetheart?”

She stopped pacing and looked at him with a put-on smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. “They um… feel kind of… off.”

“Oh, sweetheart,” he said, stepping up to her and rubbing his hands over her arms. “I'm so sorry.”

“It's alright, baby.” She said, giving him a peck on the cheek. “You really didn't even have to— it's fine, really.”

“Well… I guess they're as good as rubbish, then.” He sighed.

“Hey— That's not entirely true...” She said, cupping his face.

He knit his brows together. “What do you mean? You can't wear them out, Belle. You could hurt yourself. Again. Even worse. I won't have it—”

“That may be so.” She laughed. “But just because I can't wear them out doesn't mean I can never wear them _in.”_

He blinked at her with an empty expression, and she bit her lip. Oh. _Oh._

He coughed. “You mean—”

“Mhmm.” She nodded and leaned into his ear. _“...In bed, Rum.”_

God, how the mere flicker of the thought excited him. He shook it away. “I— you should wear shoes _you_ feel good in, Belle. Not some old things you can hardly walk in, simply because I like them.”

“Well, I liked them too! I _still_ do. In fact... I uh, think I might like them even more now.”

“I—” He opened his mouth to protest, but no words came out. “...I don't understand.”

“I broke these heels and sprained my ankle, yes. But then you came to my rescue. These past two weeks, you’ve taken _such_ good care of me. I was feeling frumpy and down on myself, and you went out of your way to make me feel confident and beautiful again. These are so much more than just a pair of shoes I can't walk in anymore, Rum. They're a reminder of how lucky I am to have a husband who cares as deeply for me as you do. I can't think of another pair I'd rather see on my feet while we make love, than _these.”_

Her words rendered him speechless and he huffed out a disbelieving laugh. "Belle, I—"

She stretched up on her toes, draping her arms around his neck and pulling him in for a kiss. She was stealing the breath from him again, but that was perfectly fine. She could have it.

“Thank you.” She said, smiling at him. “Now let's get these things off and have dinner.” She adjusted his tie and pat his chest, wetting her lips. _“…You can put them back on for me later.”_

Gold swallowed hard, his mouth suddenly dry. “Yes. Yes, anything you want, sweetheart.”


End file.
